Megan's Island (3 page)

Sandy looked around with interest. “This is a neat place,” he said. “Megan, did you see the islands?”

“Is there more than one?” She turned to stare out over the slate-colored water, which was already losing its pink tinge as the sun rose higher in the sky.

“Yeah. There's the one right off that way, and then there're a couple more farther on down the lake. One of them's so little maybe it's only a big rock. Gosh, I'm starved! Where's Grandpa?”

“Maybe you'd better carry one of these bags over to the porch, and knock on the door,” Mrs. Collier suggested. Her voice didn't sound quite right, either.

Sandy had his fist raised toward the cottage door when it suddenly opened and Grandpa Davis stood there in a pair of old flannel pajamas, his graying hair standing in uncombed wisps. He blinked, and his jaw sagged momentarily. “Well, I'll be darned! I didn't expect you folks for another couple of weeks!”

Megan glanced at her mother. Though she was smiling, it wasn't her usual open smile.

“I hope it's all right, Dad. There wasn't any way to call you. I'll explain later. We're all starved. I hope you've got something to eat.”

“Sure, sure. Come on in.” Grandpa was a tall man with wide shoulders and hips narrow enough so his pajama pants sagged. He hitched them up with one hand. “Give me a chance to get dressed, and we'll mix up a batch of sourdough pancakes, how about that? Got some real maple syrup to go on 'em. Bet you kids never tasted any real maple syrup, just that cheap stuff they bottle these days. Sandy, I didn't exactly get things ready for you yet, but I figured you'd have the little bedroom in the back, there, and Megan and your mom could share the front bedroom. Take the bags through that door, boy, and give me a few minutes.”

His right foot was in a cast, and it made a clumping sound on the wooden floor as he moved away.

Megan hauled the heavy suitcase through the doorway her grandfather had indicated. The cottage sure wasn't fancy, she thought. Probably they'd spend most of their time outside, on the beach or in the woods. Or maybe on those little islands.

The living room was small, with a stone fireplace and old, comfortable furniture. No rugs, just a bare wood floor, and not the polished kind, either; it was painted dark brown.

The bedroom was so tiny Megan couldn't see anywhere to put the suitcase except on the bed. There was a dresser and a chair, and that was all. Not even enough room on the floor for Annie's sleeping bag, unless they moved the chair out into the living room. If Sandy's room was smaller, he must have a single bed like the one she'd glimpsed through Grandpa's bedroom door.

Then her attention was caught by the view through the window facing the lake; she swung the suitcase onto the bed and gazed out over the water.

So quickly it changed as the sun rose! There were blue tints now in the gray of the placid surface. She could make out separate pine trees and a lone white-barked birch on the nearest island, and in spite of her uneasiness, she felt a tingle of eagerness. This was heightened by the sight of a rowboat drawn up in the shadow of the pines directly in front of the cottage. A way to get to the island!

“It's going to be fun, isn't it?” her mother asked from behind her.

“Not as much fun as if Annie had come with us, the way we planned,” Megan said. “What's she going to think?”

For a moment her mother's throat worked, as if she found speaking difficult. Then she swallowed. “I'm sorry, honey. It couldn't be helped.”

“Why not? What's wrong? What happened? Why did we have to leave in the middle of the night, as if we'd done something wrong?”

Her mother had always talked openly to Megan; when there were questions, they had been answered. This time, however, it was as if a door had closed between them, shutting Megan out, though Mrs. Collier gave her a hug as she turned away from the window. “Later, honey. Come on, let's get some of those sourdough pancakes Grandpa makes.”

Sandy was emerging from his room as they came out of theirs. “There's a boat, Megan, and a canoe! Did you see it? Wow, we can be explorers, or voyagers! We can explore the whole lake, and even the woods on the other side!”

“You don't want to wander too far and get lost,” Mrs. Collier cautioned.

Grandpa appeared, still stuffing his shirttails into his trousers. “Now that's a fine way to talk, from someone who ran wild when she was a little girl,” he told the children. “She picked berries and swam, and we hardly saw her from breakfast time until supper because she was out in the woods. Only reason she came home then, I guess, was because she ran out of food. Couldn't carry enough to keep her going past suppertime.”

He chuckled and led the way into the kitchen, which was crowded with four of them in it. There was a tiny table covered with a plastic tablecloth, and four chairs, and cupboards made of knotty pine. Grandpa opened a door and took down a bowl.

“Megan and Sandy are city kids, Dad,” Mrs. Collier said. “They don't know about the woods and the wilds.”

“Well, this country's safer than the city these days,” Grandpa said, and began mixing pancakes.

Megan waited tensely for her mother to explain their early arrival. She thought her grandfather was waiting, too; he was more relaxed about it, but he gave his daughter uneasy glances from time to time. He cooked pancakes until they'd all had their fill: light and fluffy and delicious with the real maple syrup and a chunk of butter atop each stack.

Sandy leaned back at last, patting his stomach with satisfaction. “Boy, I may get fat this summer.”

“No, you'll run it off, same as your mother did,” Grandpa predicted.

Sandy hesitated, then blurted out what Megan was thinking. “Mom, are you going to tell us now what this is all about? How come we're here early and everything?”

Grandpa seemed to nod very faintly. “You must have driven all night, Karo, to get here before I was even out of bed.”

Megan held her breath. Now she'd know, she thought.

Only her mother didn't reply directly. She rose and began to clear the table. “It's a long story. And I did drive all night. I need to sleep a while before I'm up to it, I think. Why don't you kids go explore a little? This isn't where I grew up, but it's a lot like it. You'll have fun here, I know.”

Fun? Megan wondered. All the happy anticipation she'd felt about coming here had disappeared during the night. Sandy gave her a look that suggested he was going to go along with the situation, at least for the moment.

“Yeah, let's go look around,” he said. “Can we take the boat out, Grandpa? And the canoe?”

“The boat's safe enough, you couldn't turn it over if you tried. Just be sure the oars don't float away from you. You'd better practice with the canoe in shallow water at first; if you stand up in it, it'll dump you. You can both swim, though, can't you?”

“They've only done it in a pool,” Mrs. Collier said.

“Water's water. Pool or a lake, swimming's the same. Actually, there are life jackets hanging on the tree there; be a good idea to wear them when you're on the water, just to be on the safe side. The paddles are under the canoe,” Grandpa added, and Sandy was off at a trot, letting the screen door slam behind him.

Under other circumstances, Megan would have been right behind him. As it was, though, she was too worried to enjoy herself. It wasn't like her mother to act as if Megan and Sandy hadn't even asked her those important questions.

It was chilly, and she decided to get a sweater from the suitcase in the bedroom. She heard the murmur of voices from the kitchen as she searched for it, and then the words came more clearly as she returned to the living room.

“I didn't know what to do,” Mrs. Collier said, “except run to you,” and Megan came to a halt, heart thudding. Her mother sounded as if she were about to cry.

Clearly they thought both children had left the cottage. It was eavesdropping to stay there and listen, yet Megan couldn't help it. She felt as if she were rooted to the floor, her fingers numb on the sweater buttons.

Grandpa's voice, too, was serious. “What did you tell the kids?”

“I haven't told them anything yet. I didn't want to frighten them.”

“You don't think you scared them by taking off in the middle of the night, before school was out for the summer? With no explanations?” Grandpa asked.

Megan felt the numbness spread through her body, accompanied by a chill that the sweater didn't help.

“You saw Sandy. He's tickled to be out early, and to be here.”

“I saw Megan, too. I think you've scared her, Karo.” It sounded strange; everyone except Grandpa called her mother Karen—he never did. When he wrote letters to her, he addressed them
Dear Daughter
or
Hi, Honey.
“Megan's a bright little thing. You're going to have to tell her something, or she'll be more worried than if she knows the truth.”

“What? How can I explain, without
really
upsetting her? Maybe . . . it'll be all right, it will die down again and we can get on with our lives. . . .” There was a note of desperation Megan had never heard in her mother's voice.

“Die down again, the way it did eight years ago? Sooner or later, honey, the kids are going to have to know the truth.”

Eight years ago? What had happened eight years ago? Megan wondered. There was no time to dwell on the question. She was holding her breath until her chest ached, waiting for the reply.

“Not yet,” Mrs. Collier said, and it sounded as if she were pleading. “We were all right for eight years. . . .”

“Sure you were,” Grandpa said, and though he didn't sound accusing—in fact was gentle, even tender—Megan thought he was trying very hard to convince her mother of something. “You moved how many times since then? Twelve? Fifteen? Every time you got spooked, you moved to a new town, a new job. The kids changed schools. Had to make new friends. That's hard on kids, Karo.”

“Maybe not as hard as being as afraid as I am.”

There, she'd put it into words, confirming Megan's suspicions. Why? Megan wondered, trembling. What could make a grown-up like her mother speak in this unsteady voice, make her admit to fear?

“Kids are tough, honey. If they know what the score is, they'll work with you, do what needs to be done. Tell 'em.”

“But I lied to them, Daddy.” There was something that made Megan's heart ache, in the way her mother was calling Grandpa
Daddy.
As if she were still a little girl instead of an adult, as if he could kiss her hurts and make them better. Until today, Megan had never heard her call him
Daddy.

Yet it was her mother's words that really mattered. They were words that rocked Megan's whole world because they were so shocking.

“I've tried to teach them to be honest, not to tell lies. How can I admit to them now that
I've
been dishonest with
them?”

“I expect the best thing,” Grandpa said, and Megan heard the sounds of more coffee being poured into their mugs, and the scrape of the pot as it was being replaced on the stove, “is to explain why. They'll understand. They'll see why you had to do it.”

“Maybe,” her mother said, not sounding convinced. “But then they'll be afraid, too. They're so young. . . . Oh, Daddy, I'm tired. So tired. I've got to sleep for a few hours, anyway, and then I'll think about what to do. . . .”

A chair scraped on the kitchen floor, and Megan's paralysis was broken. She fled out the front door, closing the screen silently so as not to reveal that she'd been listening, her mother's words pounding in her ears.

I lied to them, Daddy.

About
what,
Megan wondered desperately. And
why?

Sandy had taken off his shoes and socks and rolled up his jeans, and was shoving on the bow of the rowboat, trying to get it into the water. He looked around at her, grinning. “Come on, help me! Let's row out to the island!”

Megan stared at her brother, swallowing painfully, wanting to believe she'd imagined the conversation she'd just overheard between her mother and her grandfather. Yet she knew she
hadn't
imagined it.

She wanted to strike out, to defend herself somehow, and Sandy was the only one she could attack. “Are you really that stupid, that all you want to do is go see an island?”

Astonished, Sandy stopped pushing on the boat and straightened up. “What's the matter with you?”

Tears stung Megan's eyes. “Don't you realize there's something horribly wrong?”

Sandy licked his lips uncertainly. “What?”

“Driving all night to get here, when Grandpa didn't even know we were coming, not telling Annie or anyone. . . . And Mom won't talk about it, won't tell us why. . . .”

“Well, yeah, but . . . Well, we're here, aren't we, and there's this neat island right out there, and . . . Megan? Do you know what's going on?”

She blinked, then wished she hadn't, because the tears spilled over and she had to wipe at them angrily with the back of one hand.

Sandy took a step toward her. “Hey, what is it? Are we in some kind of trouble or something?”

He looked so alarmed that she wished she hadn't said what she had. He was, after all, only ten. And whatever was happening, it wasn't his fault.

“I don't know. Mom was talking to Grandpa. I didn't hear all of it,” she admitted shamelessly, “but she's scared of something. I think she told him what it is, or maybe he already knew. He told her to tell us, and she said she couldn't. She said . . .” Megan gulped, wondering belatedly if she should be dumping this on her younger brother, but he'd never let her stop now. “She said she'd taught us to be honest, so how could she tell us now that she's lied to us.”